


Paper Plate Mishaps

by kirsch_tein



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Bar Hopping, Drunkenness, M/M, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7399441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirsch_tein/pseuds/kirsch_tein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story in which Jean gets so drunk he can't tell a paper plate from a steering wheel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Plate Mishaps

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on instagram: @kirsch.tein
> 
> follow me on wattpad: kirsch-tein
> 
> follow me on tumblr: ivva-chan

It was not in Marco's daily schedule to go out bar hopping with Jean, but he supposed it was a hell of a lot better than staying in his dorm and studying for a test that he was sure he was going to pass anyways.

And by 'bar hopping with Jean,' that meant 'being Jean's driver and watching him get absolutely wasted without having a drop of alcohol himself.'

But Marco didn't mind. It was fun to watch Jean grind up on some random green-eyed hottie and get some material on his phone for later so that he could blackmail his best friend into cheating the answers onto Marco's test for later.

He hoped, desperately, that Jean hadn't seen him recording him with his blaringly white phone in a pitch black night club. Or maybe, if Jean had seen, he would forget the entire thing.

As Jean came over to him, a shining thin sheet of sweat on his forehead from the intense song and from the dancing he did, Marco quickly pocketed his phone, looked away, and fondled the bendy straw of his ginger ale.

God forbid why Jean told the bartender to get Marco a bendy straw for his drink.

If he was going to have to stay sober the entire night while Jean got drunk as all hell, he might as well have the dignity to try and not do something absolutely ridiculous that he might regret in the immediate future.

Jean tugged restlessly at Marco's arm jacket, and the freckled man sighed, breathed in deeply, and turned to look at Jean with a glare so harsh it could have made Napoleon Bonaparte's army shit their pants.

Appearantly, Jean didn't seem to notice the glare of a thousand suns being directed his way.

"C'mon, Marco, come dance with me," he pleaded, his smile lopsided. "If you don't dance with me right now, you're gonna have to take me home and show me what some real dirty dancing is," Jean slurred, (Marco was sure that his friend's comment rose a few suggestive brows in their direction) and from the lazy look in Jean's eyes, Marco was sure that his friend didn't even know what he was saying.

Marco was used to this, yes, how Jean would say all sorts of stupid things while he was shit-face wasted, and he sighed.

Taking Jean by the arm, he put a ten on the counter where the bartender was, and he frowned slightly when he saw the knowing look on the short bartender's face, as if the tiny man who could barely look over the counter of the bar knew what Marco was up to.

He was taking Jean home, whether or not his friend wanted to go. Besides, if Jean resisted, he could always just tell him they were going to another bar.

As Marco led Jean towards the car, jerking on Jean's hand to get him out of the way of street and sidewalk signs that threatened to knock him out, he felt Jean's free hand slip into his back pocket.

Marco yelped, batting his friend's hand away from his backside immediately, his face red. He scooted away, but Jean seemed persistent, and he felt even more embarrassed when he realized Jean was just reaching into his back pocket to get his car keys. Feeling the keys slide out of his pocket, he whirled around and held his hand out.

"Give me the keys, Jean."

"It's- It's _my_ car-"

"Keys. Now."

Jean huffed and turned away, the keys dangling oh so temptingly from his fingers. Marco grabbed them easily and Jean howled his dismay, reaching for Marco and the keys as Marco quickly shoved him into the passenger side of the car. He reached over Jean's lap quickly, searching for something that could equal as a steering wheel.

He held up a paper plate that he vaguely recalled having been in the backseat because Jean had spent a night eating pizza in the car watching the entirety of Friends in one night. Marco could even remember hearing Jean clapping every 20 minutes to the theme song, singing loudly and obnoxiously. Marco lived 7 blocks away. It was a wonder Jean didn't get fined for public disturbance.

Shaking the memory from his mind, he handed the paper plate to Jean and reassured him that he was most definitely driving. Once he'd managed to calm Jean down, he started the car for real and drove Jean back to his place.

Since Marco was at Jean's place a lot, he had a spare key. He stopped the car. Jean was already asleep, the paper plate having already been dropped from his hands. Thank God Marco didn't let Jean drive. He didn't plan on dying today, world. Bodt lives on for yet another night.

Dragging Jean out from his car and praying to every single celestial being in the universe that nobody saw him dragging a sleeping body from a car to an apartment and called the cops on him. Thankfully, no one did.

He opened Jean's apartment door and quickly laid his friend down on the couch, groaning softly as he leaned up and popped the cramping bones in his back. He looked down at Jean's peacefully sleeping form, and sighed.

He didn't even know how Jean was still alive. His alcohol tolerance must be through the roof. Ordering whiskey extra strong takes real balls.

He left Jean's apartment and made his way back to his college dorm, tiptoeing into his room and flopping onto the bed. He sighed heavily, curling up in the sheets and closing his eyes quickly. He fell asleep within a few minutes.

The next day, he woke up to only a single text from Jean.

**Jean >> I told you I was good to drive**

Marco snorted. Jean didn't remember a thing. He grabbed his phone and rubbed his eyes sleepily before replying.

**Marco >> Jean, you dumbass, I drove. You sat in the passengers seat and steered with a paper plate.**

He set his phone down on the nightstand, ignoring the barrage of vibrations coming from his phone after a few seconds had passed, and looked outside the door to see his study room, the books and papers scattered haphazardly on the desktop.

Oh, well. He guessed that he might as well get started on studying for that test.


End file.
